Poetry and prose

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Five guys

Five guys rollin’ in a motor
burn up road like it don’t last.
Big bass rockin’ on the radio
I hitting the wheel to fake a drum thump.
Sunshine burnin’ through the window
toppin’ up tans to staccato crunk.

We all starin’ at the fender we followin’
lip bit focus from the fella who drives.
Davey ‘im a snooze and he sweatin’ up a storm
the others shift position like they on hot rocks.

Five guys packed in and all packin’,
colors on our backs, full-on inked and all that.
Five guys settin’ on a mission
teach a guy a lesson he’s really gonna get.
Five guys flexing up their muscles;
tonight: click-click bang-bang respect.

So we reach a shady corner
and see ‘im slouchin’ like a drunk.
Waistbands ripple as we pull our metal out
flashes of munitions and pop pop pop;
sloucher hits the deck and his baby-momma drops.
There’s a screamin’ and a wailing’ as we screech away fast
this lesson is a lesson that’s really gonna last.

We whoopin’ and a yellin’ coz we done our bit o biznizz,
9 mil teachers smokin’ up the car.
We’re slappin’ and fist bumpin’ and biggin’ up ourselves
whilst the driver stamps the pedal and he turn his knuckles white.

Five guys start the path to penitentiary
where the tats are tears in the corners of your eyes
but five guys only got one focus
coz five guys happy with their retribution night.